A Shattered Heart and a Missing Memory
by SpeakerofTaleandLore
Summary: Just my musings on Belle's memory loss and her actions that come along with it. One-shot, set in Belle's POV. Please note: I haven't watched the episode yet, I'm only writing on what I've read, playing it by ear. Please give it a chance and don't forget to R n' R!


I remember waking up in the arms of a man, a stranger. His eyes were filled with concern, and I didn't know why. We were at the edge of a town, I could tell. He said something. I didn't hear him.

I knew I was in pain, but it was distant. I felt odd. I felt like something was missing, something I didn't know. I knew that I had been shot; I heard the roar of a gun, felt gravity's embrace, and I saw the ground move beneath my feet.

I could feel the pain now, it burned and yet it was numb, distant. I knew I was seriously hurt. I looked up at the man who held me. He placed his hand on the tiny spot of agony and it healed, the bullet forced from my flesh. It was numb again and I felt an electric current run through my entire arm as my skin began to knit itself together. I asked him how he did it. He spoke again. He asked me if I was alright. He called me "Belle".

"Who is Belle?"

The look on his face was enough to break my heart even though he was but a stranger to me. I didn't know him, but maybe he knew me? I didn't really know myself at this point. All I knew was there and now.

He brought me to a hospital. Many people came to visit, asked if I was okay. I didn't know them. Among them was curious boy with a book he clung to. I saw an older man looking in through the window, looking happy at the stranger's displeasure. And yet beneath the surface I could tell that he lost someone dear to him. He reminded me of someone. Someone suffocating.

The stranger visited me, calling me "Belle". He forced a chipped cup into my hands, begging me to remember. I looked at it. It was just a cup, gold rimmed and chipped. He begged and begged and looked destroyed. He told, implored me, and antagonized me to remember. I was angry. I didn't know this man, this stranger. He may have healed me, saved me from bleeding out, but I didn't know him.

Plus, I was frightened. I threw the cup against the far wall; it was too much to bear. It hurt to see and hear that artifact break and fall to a point I couldn't see over my bedside. It hurt, but the hurt was distant. Unreal.

He kissed me then, after muttering something about "true love's kiss". This frightened me so I pushed him away and screamed and told him to leave me be. He was but a stranger.

I saw his shoulders sag as though my acceptance would support his spine. The stranger turned, said "very well" and took his leave. I felt this distant hurt, this distant ache in my heart. But it was distant so I ignored it.

Maybe it was my imagination, maybe it was true. I thought I saw the stranger's eyes glisten with tears as he left. I decided it was my imagination. It hurt a little less when I convinced myself of this. What was I too him? I knew nothing of before I fell into his arms. True love's kiss.

This wasn't a fairy tale. This was reality, wasn't it? Where life ticks on and on like a clock with no stop and no whimsy to slow down. There are no curses to be broken. Just the missing pieces to my memory.

I knew of grass and of summer skies and the color of my hair. I knew how to speak, how to act around other humans. I could tell you anyone of my favorite adventures found in a book. But I didn't know my name or this stranger.

"Belle" he had called me. I heard others address me as that too. I suppose my name was indeed "Belle", their guess is as good as mine.

I heard a while ago that the stranger was leaving. Maybe he was leaving when I met him? The both of us, together? What was he and I doing out at the edge of this quaint little town? And how did he heal me with a swipe of his hand?

A nice girl with dark hair and tiny, too tiny, clothes often visited me. We talked about many things. She tried to get me to remember. When I ask her about that stranger and how he healed my wound she would distract me with another question, another object. When I state "magic" she jumps and changes the subject. Anything could be possible, I thought.

I could tell as the man walked away that he held close to him a shattered heart. I think I know him. I am unsure about this town, these people I supposedly called "friends". I feel like there's something missing, something in the back of my mind. But then again, I only knew waking up in the arms of a man, a stranger. Nothing more.


End file.
